Todi Ragini

Streams in the silent river
and I hear
the sound of her footfall in the leaves and the grass
 as she follows her path in the woods at the silent hour.
The leaves on the floor are gently brushed under her fragile pressure.
Hush, listen, the sound of her harp has begun , and it slowly mounts and fills the woods.
A moment's lull and I restlessly search for her presence
as if I may lose her forever in that pause.
The lost sound emerges as if from a distant cloud.
The sound of the silent love at the heart of a woman, alone and glad, her quietude sings
a song of gratitude, a song of grace, for all that she knows of
the secret of the river's turbulent tide,
 the passion that drives the drifting cloud, the exquisite pain
of the desire felt in the shadows of hills.
The inner landscape,the sacred space unfolds,
the sadness,anguish and gloom,
run in and fold in a blessed way.

The note of wistful,penetrating joy
and I know not if I am sad or swinging,
Her harp stops singing; I don't know when.
The last note not sung, the harp still held in a sway,
I am waiting , the last note, the acme of all my life
is yet to emerge and sweep me away.